


The Experiment

by Milli Moi (Millimoi)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, F/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pregnancy, Pregnant Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Super baby, friends without benefits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millimoi/pseuds/Milli%20Moi
Summary: This has been a long time coming for me, a story I have worked on for a long time perfecting the plot and working out how I wanted to tell it. The story came from a mix of ideas and prompts, one being the comments people made after Infinity War that the way Natasha held her stomach at the end of the film made people wonder if she really could be pregnant. Add on some plot threads from the Next Avengers comic and film, swapping Natasha's physical sterilisation in the film for the chemical one of the comic books and here we are.Proper Summary: Following Captain America: Civil War it is clear to the disbanded group around Steve Rogers that something more is needed, that the world is falling apart at their feet and they aren't getting any younger. Theories which have circulated over Natasha Romanoff's fertility, whether a true super soldier could survive the inhospitable effects of her less refined serum. They need a hero for the next generation, and despite the feeling, none of this will work, Natasha is willing to try, hoping she can be part of something that saves the world.
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

August 2017 

THIS AGREEMENT, dated fifth of August, Two Thousand and Seventeen, is between, Cpt. Steven Grant Rogers (Intended Parent) and Ms Natalia Alianovna Romanoff (Surrogate). 

THIS AGREEMENT forms legal confirmation of the above parties involvement providing conditions previously stated are adhered to. 

WITH UNDERSTANDING of the agreement made, associated risks and outcomes, Cpt. Steven Grant Rogers and Ms Natalia Alianovna Romanoff gave their informed consent to participation. 

  
  
  
  


Signed: S.G. Rogers 

Signed: N. Romanova 

  
  
  



	2. December 2017

December 2017

Natasha took a swig from the glass bottle bypassing a glass in the need for a little Dutch courage - or, giving it was an imported bottle of good quality vodka - Russian courage. She swallowed a large mouthful of the clear alcohol, feeling it burn as it travelled from her mouth and down her throat. She sighed, feeling like her body sagged at the loss of the breath she had just released. Setting the bottle back on the bedside table she screwed the lid on with vigour, she wouldn’t let herself rely on alcohol to get through the evening.

The room was set, Natasha had removed the pointless collection of scatter cushions from the double bed tossing them in the wardrobe along with the bed runner. The blinds were shut, closing off the room and making it feel warm. The outside world was a cold one, although by her personal standards the December temperatures of minus 6 to minus 8 degrees celsius were far from cold. It was typical for Montgenevre however, as was the blanket of untouched snow outside their window.

  
Natasha observed the room. She didn’t like it, the feeling was too homely, even the bedding was a warm cream colour dotted with little blue flowers. It had been years since she had needed to do this sort of work, and this wasn't working as such, but the adrenaline Natasha felt seemed more related to the room than her upcoming actions. This type of work was almost always restricted to hotel rooms, whether high-end penthouses or outdated motels, the lack of connection to any single person helped the ground feel neutral.

  
Natasha glanced in the floor-length mirror diagonal to where she stood, but her eyes were drawn back to the reflection unexpectedly. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t used to the sight of her body in lingerie, in fact, she often felt more comfortable in the sheer materials than in a basic t-shirt bra. It wasn’t that the combination she wore didn’t look right, she was happy enough with the fit. No, it was partly that the set was plainer than some others. She wore only a lacy balcony bra in black and matching underwear. Currently, a pair of black lace Garters were also sitting mid-thigh but she still wasn’t sure about those. She had left her hair loose, used only a touch of mascara and lipstick and some splashes of perfume on her neck. It was simple, if she had even been the type of woman destined to one, long marriage then the image she saw in front of herself was of that alternative life. Clients, or those who required her services of manipulation through a heads up, they usually asked for or advised full corsets with stockings and suspenders or the opposite, an outfit so sheer and minimal in the fabrics used they could have been pieced from scraps. These were the ones with requests, with odd fetishes and fantasies but this night she would have something very different to achieve.

  
In some ways the clothing of those times, especially when she was still in her teenage years and very much afraid of the sexual aspect of her career, they were her armour. She had grown from a young adult into a woman in those clothes, she had learned to hide her fear, learned to fake her emotions and make the man involved feel she enjoyed his contact even if she felt numb. Now her armour had evolved she had her suit, her favourite weapons within reach and a team she could rely on, all of which felt less of a necessity than nylon stockings had felt to her at sixteen. She didn’t need armour all the time, she didn’t need to act, but the nature of this was so unusual it made her feel more naked than she was.

  
Shaking herself from the image Natasha tiptoed to the opposite side of the bed, turning on another small lamp and adding to the warm glow in the room.  
Another deep breath in.

  
It was almost nonsensical that she should feel much at all, Natasha knew what to expect, knew that it was highly likely she would remain in control the whole evening, it was more the lack of props and acting, not being able to hide behind a character she portrayed. She had only given herself to two men in this way, being her true self, even if she had slept with many more.

  
She climbed onto the bed, glancing at the little bedside alarm clock which looked older than the building it stood in. She had a few minutes till he would knock on the door. Positioning herself on her side, a hand holding her head and the other following the curve of her hip, accentuating the dip of her waist, she waited.

  
Even though Natasha worked alongside a team which was mostly male and had heard every put-down and every manifestation of a pissing contest imaginably among the boys she knew more about some than others - and that wasn’t including the time Clint made her check out a spot on his balls. Clint was open, she’d been in every situation imaginable with her partner and after the initial glances, they were more than comfortable being naked in front of one another. Tony, he hid things, he wasn’t hugely body confident but then standing beside Thor and Steve, even beside Clint’s arms, any guy would be insecure. He slept with whoever whenever in the past but had finally found his place with Pepper. She didn’t know a lot about Thor in the bedroom arena other than his confidence matched his body, but she was sure he had a few partners under his belt.

  
Steve was hard, he took part in the teasing from the sidelines, laughed along but never said much else. She had kissed him in the past, and by his defensive nature, she got the impression he was trying to get back in the game but the modern world, a society of one-night hook-ups replaced his world of dating and waiting for marriage. He had a body that should belong to a confident man but as he had come to own that body outside the normal means it was like he had never quite grown into his muscles. In some ways he reminded Natasha of a pubescent teen, still trying to become comfortable with themselves while the world around him expected more.

  
She had no idea of what lay below the utility belt, and, the fact that worried her a little more, whether he had ever been with a woman before. She didn’t want it to be that way for him, he was a friend, he deserved to give his virginity in a way that mattered and not as part of some experiment.

The knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. By the timing and the firm rhythmic way, the three taps on the wood were placed Natasha already knew it was Steve but she called out to him anyway - this was something that Sam didn’t need to see and she was certain if he did then the story would become a legend.

He slipped into the room quickly, opening the door just wide enough to let himself in. She knew this was because he didn’t want anyone walking past to see Natasha in her underwear. It made her smile a little in nostalgia, reminding her of the first time they had spoken, Steve had called her ma’am - something no one had ever said before. Steve stood near the door, hands in his pockets and eyes firmly fixed on his shoes.

  
“I ugh, I wanted to make sure Sam didn’t get the wrong idea or something.”

  
“Sam’s in the shower,” Natasha replied, hoping that her voice would lift his gaze,

  
“I can hear the fan. And I am pretty sure that’s meant to be Bohemian Rhapsody even if it does sound like a cat dying.”

  
Steve smirked but still didn’t lift his gaze. She allowed him a moment, waiting to see if he would find enough confidence to look up. His discomfort made her feel uneasy but in a way that she felt sort of guilty, guilty to make him feel this way, guilty to have the know-how to get through this when he didn’t. Mostly guilty that she was about to try and seduce him, or at least get the necessary physical response from him to get them through the evening when, if Steve had ever had sex at all, it would have been with someone he genuinely cared for romantically, not cared for platonically.

  
“Steve.”

  
Natasha sat upright on the bed, the duvet rustling a little as her weight moved. She waited for a second, watching, and he slowly shifted his gaze to meet hers. She was a little surprised that he didn’t sever the imaginary line connecting their eyes, instead, he seemed to be taking in her clothes, or lack of most of them. The tips of his ears starting to turn a little pink, at first Natasha presumed his embarrassment was at her state of dress but when he moved from the spot he had stuck to, she was less sure.

  
It only took the tall, blonde soldier a few steps to get to the side of the bed and in those seconds Natasha met his thoughts. Steve was a soldier and like her, a tactician, he knew there was a way to do everything, sometimes a cautious approach was needed but he had decided to go in guns blazing so Natasha would have to join the fight as he saw fit.

  
When he reached the side of the bed, his knees brushing the duvet she had already lifted herself up on her knees, trying to match his height. Now was the moment to turn on the seduction and dial it up as high as Steve could manage. She met his eyes, taking hold of both of his wrists without breaking eye contact and pulling his hands to rest on her hips. His cheeks flushed a little more but Steve also made no attempt to escape. As Natasha run her own hands firmly up the front of his chest she not only felt the defined muscles but his heart pounding in his chest, she still expected this was panic although Steve’s gentle grip on her hips had loosened and one hand moved to the small of her back.

  
Holding his jaw she kissed him, gentle at first but when he returned the kiss with vigour she fought back, kissing him harder. Natasha was surprised to see this reaction, he was giving more than she could have expected and each time she turned the dial one more position, biting on his bottom lip, unbuttoning and pushing off his shirt, running her hands over his skin, even when she gently guided his hand to her breast he was coping. His skin was warm to touch, his kisses meeting hers, she knew every step was an assessment and that she probably shouldn’t be assessing his reactions so closely but it was hard to do anything else. Natasha knew that concentrating so heavily on Steve was preventing her from thinking about herself, avoiding even considering her own thoughts or feelings. She was used to being numb and, perhaps worried about letting herself feel in case she might feel the wrong things.

  
She started to let her hands work back down his body, as she reached his belt, pulling the end from the buckle Steve seemed to pause, his hands stilling on her body and his kisses slowing, Natasha broke the kiss with a gentle pop, trying to meet his eyes as she slipped her hand into his jeans.

  
Steve pulled away from her instantly, grabbing her wrist almost too hard.

  
“Stop!”

  
Before Natasha could begin to question anything Steve turned away from her, he sighed heavily, she could hear the growl in that sigh. Natasha let out a breath she hadn’t even realised she was holding and watched silently as her friend took a few steps leaning his head against a comforting palm. He walked again, then turned, another growl of frustration before a gentle sigh.  
Now he looked at her and there was clear distress in his blue eyes, Natasha felt her body deflate a little and her previous feelings of guilt seemed to rise as quickly as the sexual urgency dissipated.

  
“I’m sorry,” Steve spoke softly, shaking his head and turning his gaze back to the floor, there was a beat.

  
“Steve,”

  
Natasha waited till he looked back at her before patting the bed beside her softly he accepted the invite, sitting heavily beside her, his head fell back into the cradle of his hands. She didn’t know if she should comfort him, or how to go about it, should she hold him to her? Wrap an arm around his shoulders? It reminded her of many years in the past when another Red Room girl, Melina, had come back in a mess, she was shaking, scared by any loud noises for a week. They never knew exactly what this man had done to her, all they saw was her split lip and the four, round bruises on one side of her neck. These things, they were harder than the usual beatings, harder than the cuts and pulled hair or the punishment of no food for a week. Those wounds went too deep, they fractured parts of the soul, like a glass too many and the soul would shatter. She had to be careful, the soul of someone like Steve was more at risk than hers, Natasha somehow kept the shards together, even if sometimes they threatened to fall and leave an empty frame.

  
“I’m sorry,” Steve spoke into his hands before pulling his head back up and repeating himself. He stared into the distance, looking at the blinds over the window but not seeing them at all.

  
“No.”

  
Steve’s eyes flickered to Natasha’s questioning her. Natasha hadn’t expected the word, it escaped her mind of its own accord and now that it had been voiced she would have to continue her thought.

  
“No, you shouldn’t have to be sorry Steve. This, all of it, is strange and unusual and it’s more my world than yours.”

  
“Yeah, well way back I remember you stepping from the world you knew into a war.”

  
Steve smiles a little with his response, his shoulders started to loosen as he began to feel the familiarity Natasha knew he expected with her.

  
“I guess, but it’s part of the job, you keep your eye on the ball, never taking the crosshairs off target. I was made to adapt, I had to.”

  
Natasha drew her feet up, crossing her legs and tucking her toes under them. Maybe following Steve’s approach wasn’t the way to go, it seemed he expected one thing when he needed the opposite. He needed time and Natasha had been the girl with none, she never got the opportunity to warm to things or the right to say stop, maybe she forgot to give that empowerment to others.

  
A moment of silence filled the air until their ears tuned in once more to Sam’s singing in the distance, no longer Bohemian Rhapsody, but it still sounded like Queen or maybe something else from the eighties.

  
“Look, Steve, we don’t have to do this. We can try syringes or some other method, we don’t have to do it like this.”

  
This time he sat upright, looking at her fully.

  
“No, we agreed this was the best way, the numbers agree. We can’t guarantee the facilities to keep things sterile any other way and-.”

  
He stopped, Natasha waited, realising in the lull that Sam’s latest number was ‘Don’t stop me now.’

  
Steve released a sharp huff and began to unwind the scrolls of thoughts filling his brain.

  
“This way makes sense I just-.” Steve lifted his hands up looking like he wanted them to assist in his description but when they offered nothing he gently slapped them down on his thighs.

  
“I don’t know where to start Nat, I don’t know how to do this. When I was a kid no one told you, you learned all about growing up through asking the other guys if it was normal. Or at least if their voices disappeared to you weren’t the only odd one. You learned this once you got married.”

  
He gestured to the room around them, looking strained.

  
“That education though, the kind you got behind the bike sheds or whatever? You don’t need it, a manual won’t help. You’ve just got to listen to you, what you want, what you feel. Or at least what the, ugh, little guy wants.”

  
With her last words, Natasha nodded pointedly at the still unbuckled front of his jeans.

  
Steve sighed again, looking away for a second to contain his embarrassment,

  
“And that if he doesn’t agree, what then huh?”

  
He needn’t have worried, Natasha was once more a step ahead, slipping a thigh across his lap and positioning herself across his body, face to face. She saw the worry in his eyes hiding alongside the prospect of embarrassment. Natasha leant forward, crossing her wrists behind Steve’s head. Their faces were so close neither could look away, she hoped that he could see the honesty in her eyes, hoped he could see how much she cared.

  
“We go slower, I’ll guide you when I can, just feel, don’t think, just focus on the sensations.”

  
As Natasha reaches the close of her sentence she tentatively moved her lips to meet his, giving the offer and waiting for his approval which was met.

  
The kisses continued, increasing in pace and hunger and Natasha tried to take her own advice, to feel, not think. With her guidance, Steve’s hands went to her breasts and she masked his hands with hers, showing him the pressure he could use but letting him take over within minutes. She could tell his heart rate began to race but what she could feel, pressing against her body, told her this time it was better.

  
Their eyes met again with honesty when Natasha let her hand slip for a second time into his jeans. She kept eye contact, watching and waiting for any sign it was wrong but taking a gentle grip she saw his eyes squeeze a little and then relax. Eyes closed he nodded, allowing her to use the tactics she needed - and for her to wonder if all of his body had been affected by the serum.

  
She was surprised as she lay on her back, that having her best friend both on and then in her body didn’t feel as odd as it might have. Natasha just lay as she was, eyes closed, moving her hips with each movement of his. The familiar smell of the shampoo he used that she could smell as he pressed his face into the hollow of her neck, the familiar feel of his skin where her hand connected with his bicep. Even with no romance involved - although there was no doubting Steve was an attractive man - with no feeling of lust, no fluttering in the pit of the stomach when she observed his body. There was a comfort, a contentedness that perhaps you’d imagine in old married couples. She felt relaxed, peaceful, something that Natasha could rarely allow herself to feel fully. When she felt the warmth inside, listened to the shuddering breaths as Steve released everything within her. Natasha’s eyes opened to see Steve looking back, waiting, watching, like he expected her to give him a grade out of ten.

  
He began to smile, shy at first but growing into a proper grin. Natasha laughed, shaking her head. He was alright, he got through it, she hadn’t married him for life and as a result, tens of thousands of unicellular organisms were now swimming vigorously inside her body.

  
They had overcome the first hurdle, possibly the biggest they would have in this journey. It was unlikely any of this would work, Natasha knew from many an unprotected evening that pregnancy was no longer on the cards. This was the last chance they had, and the best reason to try.


	3. March, 2018

There are a lot of things that are common knowledge about having a baby, but there’s also a lot about pregnancy which is never discussed. It wasn’t as if Natasha had expected the general public to chat about the nitty-gritty, but coming from her en suite bathroom in the Avengers facility and flouncing down onto the bed, not even bothering that she had just showered and would end up wetting the bed covers, she could only think about how she’d discovered the impossibility to shave her own legs. She had tried leaning around her belly to get at her calves and ended up nicking the skin instead. A piece of toilet paper was currently stuck against the wound and she felt so frustrated by it all, everything about going to a wedding felt wrong today. If destiny and fate had existed then they were giving her every not-so-subtle sign that attending the wedding was a bad idea.

  
Natasha stared at the ceiling watching the blades of the fan turning very slowly and silently. This wasn’t how today should have been happening. Of course, no one ever envisioned Tony getting his ego in check long enough to marry, but a lot of things had changed since she first observed the arrogant Billionaire.

She found herself breathing heavier than normal, she could hear her breaths as if she had a cold but this had happened a few times when getting out of the shower. She became a sort of light-headed, heavy breathing lump, feeling like every movement was an effort until she could sit down. Blood pressure - that was what doctor google diagnosed as the issue - that, and a tad of intercostal pain she still felt on her right side.

The dress she planned to wear that afternoon was placed on its hanger which in turn was clawed to the curtain rail. The curtains were a pointless design, the type that was sheer material and not even wide enough to cover the window. When Natasha looked at the dress she saw the same pointless attempt at class and sophistication. She had yet to make up her mind about who was going to attend the wedding, whether she was going to use a pseudonym and good quality, human-hair wig to get through the day. This was the big outing, she knew it was a paparazzi’s Disneyland with not just the celebrity that came with Tony Stark but their vomit-worthy spreads on the womanizer who turned his life around were highly likely. There would be everyone from science journals and high-end wedding websites to the classic gossip sources and local news reporters all in attendance. Natasha wasn’t sure if she was really worried about her shocking size taking over the attention of the press at Tony and Pepper’s wedding but she was happy to go with it.

  
After the events a few days ago she knew the whole thing had lost its eyes-only status, she knew world security had flagged her hospital records. Before now there had been no reason for them to care, there were bigger issues for the world than a pregnant superhero but after the last hospital admission with two broken ribs, let’s just say they had all had their eyes opened to the child not being as typical as they had believed so far.

  
She took a breath in, holding it while she fought through the moment of pain needed to get into a sitting position. The world didn’t spin this time, she had given enough time for her blood pressure to adjust, that was a plus. Her eyes fell to her feet, she wiggled bare toenails almost teasing herself because she knew there was no way they were getting painted. She was flexible, but not that flexible, and the idea of waiting for Steve to arrive and asking him to paint her nails, that was laughable. No, she had a pair of pantyhose in their packet on her bedside table. They were the type that was supposed to shape your body by clinging tight to your figure. She’d never worn these sort of things before if anything there were times she wished to be able to add body fat when the outline of muscle on her stomach and upper arms gave a hint of suspicion to an informant. Part of Natasha knew that these things weren’t supposed to be used when pregnant, but she also hated that the little guy could no longer be hidden under clothes.

  
There was no hiding now, not in any form.

  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Wakanda, March 2018**

There was a feeling Natasha had begun to associate with the aftermath of battle, a haze that filled her body where the world felt suddenly calm and still, allowing for the smoke of gunfire and WMD’s to float in the air. The fractured particles of bullets were allowed to fall to the ground parachuted in the smoke that dispersed into the atmosphere. Despite the ringing in her ears, something that years of shooting various gun types had taught her to ignore, the world felt quiet. The calm after the storm was very much real but the calm wasn’t relief, it was suspicious.  
In the haze Natasha felt the most alert, this was the time to look closely at the shadows, at the treelines and to keep your feet away from the reach of the arms of the wounded. This calm, it didn’t have to mean their victory, and the surprising lack both of bodies and of living and wounded soldiers was never a good sign. Watching out the side of her eyes to movement just beyond the edge of the trees Natasha dropped the spent magazine in her handgun, swapping it out for a fresh one in her belt. She didn’t need to look at the weapon to do this, the weapon was something she could trust but the figure coming in her direction was not.

  
She twisted, turning her body further from the figure, making them believe she hadn’t seen their approach. As her body moved she winced, feeling pain for the first time in her stomach, likely a bruise or scrape gained in the fight. She hadn’t felt any pain before, the adrenaline of the action they had just faced must have masked it, and she didn’t have time to focus on it now. The figure was getting closer.

  
Natasha reached into the front pocket of her belt, drawing out a small black mount for the pistol she held. The mirror allowed her to see the figure better although the approaching person would believe she was oblivious to her approach. The figure was tall and broad, so likely male and unlikely to be an off-worlder.

  
There was a roll of pain across her abdomen, a tightening pain which was both like her internal organs were huddling together and forcing themselves out at the same time. She bit into her bottom lip, the pain was dull but strong enough to disturb her focus.

  
“Nat?”

  
She recognised the voice of the figure just as a third wave hit. Natasha gasped, the pain becoming sharp as well as strong, her hand went to her stomach, trying to press her palms into the pain, hoping if there was bleeding under her vest she could keep it staunched. She knew it wasn’t a laceration, she knew it was internal but this was not the time, she had to deal with this pain, ignore it until the situation allowed her to feel it.

  
The voice was one she knew well, and the fact it belonged to Bruce Banner gave her even more reason to hide the pain. It would break his heart, it would cause arguments that the team didn’t need. They needed to regroup, they needed a plan and a way out of here, and if she came clean the agenda would be pushed.

  
“Natasha? Hey, what’s wrong, are you hurt?”

  
For an unathletic man, Bruce had moved faster than Natasha anticipated he would, coming to her side and laying a hand on her arm as she winced.

  
He noticed her eyes go wide, an outward indication of the only thought she had for the situation. Shit. She could feel a damp warmth between her legs, she was very likely bleeding. It was going to happen, she hadn’t said a thing because they had needed her skills not her body, and this was why. She was miscarrying.

“What the hell were you thinking? Why didn’t you tell us- tell me? Natasha, you could have been seriously hurt.”

  
“I wasn’t the one at risk here, we had-.”

  
Natasha tried to speak calmly but the Captain continued to yell over her, letting his emotions spill from his mouth. She knew it wasn’t all about her, she knew his anger was pointed at the overall situation and the shock of this sudden revelation was too much.

  
“ You weren’t at risk? You don’t work alone, not now, your actions affect the team, what if something had happened early, if you put yourself out of action then I’d lose one of the few people I had to rely on, if-.”

  
Natasha spoke again, expecting Steve to keep talking but this time he listened, he heard her words because he knew they were true.

  
“You know we couldn’t put the lives of everyone on this planet at risk for a maybe.”

  
She let the silence fall, thick and heavy while a machine beeped twice in the background, alerting the medical staff to some sort of results.

  
The maybe hurt, she knew that, but they both knew it was true. Twice it had failed, twice there had been a positive result, a promise to hold on to hope but never had it got this far.  
Like a bottle of champagne shaken hard the shower of anger from Steve had slowed into small waves of froth. He moved his arms, touching his hips, clasping his hands before finally deciding to cross them in front of his chest. His mind was reeling, Natasha understood that hers was too, but in this moment she was simply better at pushing anything but the facts to the very back of her mind.  
If she allowed the emotions to flow into her thoughts she would lose it, and she had to keep everything together. She needed to be the glue for the boys, keep them on track and focussed, keep them alive and in one piece until they could form a fuller picture. Bruce had gone in search of any form of ultrasound, he had mentioned a heartbeat might be detected with just a stethoscope but Natasha had little hope there would be anything to hear and she expected he needed the time. She had never considered what it would feel like for the Doctor to hear she was pregnant, but then she hadn’t known for sure if she would see him again.

  
It was a mess, a huge mess, and she had just dropped a second bomb into the cooling crater.

  
“I haven’t known long, I didn’t add everything together at first, no real symptoms but I followed protocol and tested after I noticed a little weight gain, I needed to focus on the job before I could bring it to you, I didn’t think it would get this far, I really didn’t.”

  
Steve sat down on the bed by her legs, a breath slipping out of him like a wheel with a puncture.

  
“How long?”

  
He was looking at her now. Steve’s face had loosened from the anger and now she could see the lack of spark in his eyes, the way every feature on his face seemed to sag with a new weight.  
“This was week fourteen.” Natasha shrugged, glancing to her right at the far-away white wall - anything to remove her gaze from his. She felt the size of those weeks for the first time and recognised them as something significant. The first two had been a matter of weeks -if even that.

  
“That’s, that’s almost a third of the way Nat.”

  
For a moment there was light in his face again, a look of total amazement but only a moment after it appeared the light was gone, he was reminded of the reality. Fourteen weeks was more than a third, it was more than they thought might happen, and only when they had the opportunity to realise what was changing were they shown the end.

  
A polite wrap of knuckles on the doorframe interrupted any further thoughts. Steve leapt to his feet in an instant, not wanting to add insult to injury for Bruce but another doctor stood in the doorway carrying a small tablet and Doppler wand.

  
He introduced himself but Natasha had only nodded, she had lifted the hospital gown up from her stomach when asked but her focus was purely on the ceiling tile above her head. It was because of all that had happened, her anger was aimed at that- this wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t even really an issue, she couldn’t let it be.  
It was her life story, everything Natasha had ever known. There was no reason to have pity for herself, those type of worries were weak and egotistical, she had to concern herself with much bigger things; she had a different story.

  
There was crackling for a while, odd sounds similar to the way wind hit a camera microphone but she barely heard them, aware they were happening and waiting for the inevitable lifting of the wand from her stomach.

  
That was when they heard a change in the sound, the whirring of air changed to a cyclical noise, almost like a train over tracks, whuw, whuw, whuh.

  
Natasha held her breath, believing the sound wasn’t really there but also scared that moving would make it stop. She didn’t think she had ever heard the sound before but somehow before the doctor had a chance to speak she already knew that was the little thing inside her, it was alive, it was somehow hanging on. It was really there, a tiny, living, baby - her baby.

  
“That’s a good heartbeat.”

  
Natasha didn’t dare to turn her head from the ceiling tile, she didn’t dare to release the breath held in her lungs, but she could tell the doctor was smiling.

  
“ Heartbeat is 163 beats per minute,” there was a pause while he tapped a few things on the small screen,

  
“Approximate length is 9.2 centimetres. You’re lucky Ms Romanoff, you have a healthy baby.”

  
Natasha wasn’t sure when she had started breathing normally but she was when she looked towards Steve, not turning her head fully until she could see his face. He looked stunned, glancing from the screen to where the Doppler pressed into her skin and back. His eyes sparkled, and he was trying hard to contain a huge smile, making various expressions in the process.

  
The doctor clicked off the screen, handing a clump of paper towel to Natasha to wipe off the blue goo. Steve caught her eyes then, his smile infectious. Even as she began to smile she could still see the pain in Steve’s eyes and could feel her own pain sitting low in her stomach.

  
There were no words, words couldn’t fit the situation. Steve reached forward and brought her into a gentle hug, encasing her in his big arms, and giving them both some sort of comfort. There were too many emotions; relief, surprise, gratitude but also shock, fear, a feeling of staring into the unknown and the inconceivable nature of the future knowing there was one more to be protected, one more member of the scattered team out of commission, one more change which had enormous potential.

  
Pulling back a little from her but keeping a hand placed on her lower back Steve looked at her, his face sliding more into concern. Natasha felt the tear slide down her cheek before she asked what was wrong. The first tear was quickly followed by a second and a third, she sniffed, smiling back through the tears.

  
“Fuck Hormones.”


	4. August, 2018

_ She had to sit again, allow herself a moment to breathe after battling with the nylon fabric for longer than should have been necessary. A band of tubular fabric clung around her stomach, making each breath a little harder than it had been before. Glancing in the mirror Natasha could see that the pair of pantyhose did their job, at least a little, and she wished that wasn’t a relief.  _

_ She wished that she could see her younger self on the glass surface. A sixteen-year-old Natasha would have looked healthier, not only due to flushed cheeks and doubled hair volume which was something the current Natasha could see in herself, but the young girl had a look of excitement. A teenage version of the same woman, but a world away in terms of their dreams.  _

_ Drawing her eyes away from the mirror Natasha deleted the image from her mind, replacing it with the dress still hanging on the wardrobe door. Letting out a deep sigh, she pushed herself to her feet, wincing at the pain in her side and reaching for the dress.  _

  
  


_ She had to keep going, there was no point in waiting for things to get easier. They tried that and failed.  _

  
  


**Avengers Facility, August 2018**

  
  


Natasha could feel his eyes on her as she walked up the few front steps. Steve was supposed to be grabbing her bag and file from the trunk but she could tell he was distracted. It didn’t help that he was more than aware she would try and hide her pain. He was waiting and watching for any signs she struggled. It was key he didn’t see that, that she gave him no reason to worry. 

  
  


Sometimes Natasha felt the others were good at forgetting her past, at forgetting she had experience keeping what she could from the governing bodies and that being on the other side meant she knew more of America’s secret corruption than most Americans did. There would be eyes on already, she would be surprised - and almost disappointed - if the compound hadn’t been bugged by now. There would be discussions, debates, attempts to penalise her, to penalise Cap, and there was little chance the bureaucracy wouldn’t play dirty to help win their case. From now there would have to be code implemented in conversations things would have to be written on paper. A paper trail could both save you and kill you, it was about how you used it, but tech - anything connected to the internet - that was much harder to navigate.

As for the pain, her right side was throbbing as she walked up the steps having to hold her breath each time she lifted her body but trying to move quickly enough that Steve wouldn’t notice. There were three broken ribs, two which were broken through and a third which was hairline. She had experienced worse, a lot worse, but she also knew she would heal within a few days. It was one of the perks of whatever crap they had put in her body all those years back, she could suffer some serious beatings but would feel the pain for half the time of the average person. It made putting yourself in the line of fire easier. 

This wasn’t like other forms of pain, and that was something she hadn’t allowed herself to think about yet, those thoughts had been boxed up for later when she was able to unpack them. There had been no other signs before this, no signs that the little guy was anything more than typical but he was getting bigger, stronger, and now he had managed to break her ribs from the inside. 

There was some relief from the pain once the stairs were completed and Natasha could walk the last few steps to the door on a flat surface. She placed her fingers on the print plate and looked into the red light which scanned and checked her retina’s. She had never really planned to stay in the compound but after all that had gone down, her apartment being handed off to someone else and having no desire to find another it had become a semi-permanent home. Every time she let herself into the building she was reminded of staying in an apartment and trying to find somewhere in her suit to hide a set of keys, one of the many not so glamorous aspects of the hero lifestyle. 

Hearing the locks disconnect from their sockets and the buzz of electricity before the door opened Natasha looked back at Steve. Seeing him carrying her bag, a jacket tossed over the top with her medical file in one hand and the car keys between his teeth as he struggled to organise everything he held Natasha was reminded with the bitter thought of how he would be as a real father. In another life, Steve would have been a great father, he would have been involved, the type of Dad to play catch in the backyard, to help with maths homework and to be there when his teens suffered their first breakups. In another life, Steve would have been a lot of things, she would probably have been dead. 

So many parts of parenthood had been taken from him; there had been no joy in the conception; there had been no joy in the words ‘Steve, I’m pregnant’, only fear after the battle they had just been involved in; there was no excitement, no anticipation, he would know his son but he wouldn’t raise him. It was moments like that when Natasha noticed her hand wanted to go to her belly, only recently had she allowed herself to connect with the baby that was definitely growing and thriving inside her. There was so much fear, so much unknown and the last twenty-four hours had done nothing to help with that. She hadn’t known what it was when he started to kick, but until yesterday it had become something comforting and familiar. She had begun to enjoy feeling his good morning wriggles after a cup of coffee or the odd whack that felt like a telling off. Only once she had called Steve when the bruising on her right side became extreme had Natasha realised she had never told Steve that the little guy kicked at all. 

“Come on old man, doors waiting.” 

Steve looked at her, his eyebrows raised but a smile growing on his face, 

“Old huh, your the one walking like a ninety-year-old.” 

“True, but I’m pretty sure you're the oldest father on record, I mean otherwise that’s creepy.”

Steve trotted up the stairs, taking the weight of the door from her hands. 

“Yeah, well speak for yourself, the first time Mom in her nineties.” 

Natasha ducked under his arm and into the warm building, hearing the AI welcome her as she did so. 

“I’ve got broken ribs Rogers, but my feet are still very capable of making sure this is your last baby.” 

  
  


\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natasha watched Steve as he buzzed around the open-plan penthouse, she had been confined to the sofa as he put things in their places. It hadn’t taken long for him to put things away but that had transitioned into tidying the kitchen area and making up some pasta. She felt there was a reason he was keeping himself busy, he wanted to be needed but didn’t know how to. It had worried him, that the little mouse had managed to break her ribs, even after the OB had explained that it can happen in any pregnancy if they kick the right way. She knew what he was thinking, that this was somehow his fault because it was his kid. Sometimes the old man’s old-time beliefs were so ingrained he couldn’t separate from them it didn’t matter that she was as much a part of this as he was, he felt responsible for her injuries. He also knew that the scrapped together group of politicians that remained throughout the world were starting to get back on top of things. After this admission to the ER they could no longer ignore the pregnancy, he was stronger than normal, he was superhuman.

The messenger sent to them in the ER dressed in his suit and tie with shiny black shoes had fooled no one. He was barely an adult, probably just an intern who was being forced into a larger role after the vanishing. He had only one thing to say to them; get a lawyer. 

From the sofa Natasha had been thinking, thinking about everything the spare parts version of a legal system might try to throw at her. Steve had tried to stay on the bright side as he always did on their drive home, saying they probably wanted to know the plan for the baby and its birth and make sure everything seemed ok. Natasha was born to be pessimistic, and if not, she was trained to be. She knew there was no reason to trust any government, they always had clauses and wording with multiple meanings and even if they had none of that there was always something they could pull for the right outcome. 

They could claim the baby risked national security or could be a threat to the country, things that no one would know for sure until it was born. In another world, the world that stood six months ago, this kid wouldn’t have come into the public eye the way he had and even if the world got wind of his existence then she and Steve would have had a much larger team to fight in their corner. They didn’t have Nick, they didn’t have his contacts or ex-SHIELD members to help them through but then, back when this had been a good idea they didn’t know she could or would fall pregnant. Nor could anyone have known what was going to happen to the world at large. 

She had a shot, it wasn’t likely but Natasha knew his name hadn’t yet surfaced on the constantly updating lists of the vanished. Matthew Murdock, he was an old friend, a lover from the past who not only happened to be a lawyer but who had a better understanding than most lawyers about superhumans. Even if he hadn’t been listed, there was no guarantee the masked vigilante was still roaming the streets. She hadn’t seen him in years, but she also hadn’t tried. He had a firm, there was bound to be a web address or at the very least social media which could get her in contact with Matt. He was their best shot, the best shot for all three of them. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natasha was brought back to the room, hearing Steve’s sock-covered feet padding across the floor only moments before the clunk of a bowl being set on the coffee table in front of her. 

She wasn’t even sure which thoughts she’d become lost in, her mind just a thick haze. It was a symptom or a side effect - whichever word was correct. It was a sign of how the pregnancy was developing, a sign she was crossing that bridge into the last third of pregnancy and meeting the accompanying aches and tiredness. 

“Thanks,” 

Steve nodded back to her words, sitting down gently beside her with a bowl of his own. Glancing into her bowl Natasha was surprised to see the spaghetti noodles dressed in red pesto. Steve was becoming a modern man, a fact she would file away for a later day with a better reason to tease him. 

Picking up the bowl and taking the first mouthful Natasha realised she was hungry. Food had been far from a priority with the pain she had in her ribs. The latest dose of Tylenol had taken effect and she was reminded in the ER that keeping up the pain relief was the best way to keep them effective. It was a low dose, most pain meds weren’t considered safe during pregnancy. Besides, her metabolism would probably mess that up. She has barely tasted the first few forkfuls once she started eating, suddenly desperate for food and only after the fourth mouthful in silence did she see Steve gently shake his head, a smile playing on his lips. 

“What?” Natasha mumbled through a mouthful of spaghetti. 

Steve nodded his head pointedly towards her, at first making Natasha wonder what she’d spilt before realising it was the bowl. 

“So he’s a table now?” Steve asked. 

Natasha shrugged, swallowing the pasta, 

“Hey there aren’t many perks in this whole pregnancy thing, I get the pain and the puking and the no-alcohol label, I might as well use - this - for something.” 

Steve chuckled again, taking another mouthful from his own bowl. 

Natasha was a little surprised by the words out of her mouth. She had never actively spoken about how her body had changed, she referred to him, to James, but never to her stomach itself, she didn’t know the word to use belly? Stomach? Живот? Bump? 

It came back to her then, the thought she had earlier. 

Steve glanced at her in confusion as Natasha placed her bowl back on the table and pulled up her shirt so the fabric pooled on top of her bump. She reached out for Steve’s hand, taking hold of his wrist. 

“What are you doing?” He asked but let her move his hand all the same till his palm was placed flat on the side of her belly. 

“You should know him. I know him more than you do, and I won’t be a part of his life. They can hear from in the womb, recognise voices. You should know what this feels like, what it feels like to touch my stomach, what it is like when he moves.” 

The laughter had gone from Steve’s face, he looked almost sad but all the same, he shifted himself closer to her on the sofa, placing his other hand on the opposite side. He very gently thumbed her skin, not knowing what to do with himself. 

Natasha was about to move his hands, give him instructions on where best to feel the movements when they were moved by a third party. 

Steve’s hand jolted and his eyes went wide in surprise, he seemed to freeze for a second then his eyes flicked from his hand to Natasha’s face. Meeting her gaze he began to smile, a shy smile that grew quickly into a grin. 

A second kick came, shutting Steve off before the words he planned to speak could come out. He laughed. 

Natasha found she was smiling too, delighted by proxy to Steve’s reactions. To him feeling James squirming inside her body. 

“He’s strong isn’t he?” 

Natasha rolled her eyes, 

“The baby conceived with superhero sperm, who happens to have broken three of my ribs despite weighing less than a pound? Yeah, you could say he’s strong.” 

Steve winced, 

“Yeah, sorry about that, I’ll pay for the damages.” 

She laughed, 

“Please, I  _ own  _ the virginity of Captain America, not many people can match that.” 

Steve sighed, 

“You know, that’s not supposed to become common know-.”

He was cut off by another kick under his hand. Cautiously, with his eyes flashing from Natasha’s face to her belly, he leaned in closer to her and gently kissed the spot where the baby had kicked. 

Natasha was surprised to feel tears come to her eyes, she had to blink hard to stop them from falling. It was hormones, or so she told herself, the connection was sweet to witness and she felt for the man beside her. She also had the stress of all this government business as well as pain, a lack of alcohol and sex. 

Natasha wasn’t able to have the life she was used to, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. She was glad that she hadn’t had to try and search for a one night hook up since the population halved. She had thought about it, and God her flipping hormones had made her desperate at times, but she couldn’t sleep with someone while another man’s baby was inside her - even if Steve and she were not a couple. 

“I’m gonna head old man, get some sleep, if this little guy will let me.” 

Steve nodded, she could see the emotion in his face too but now wasn’t the time to bring it up or they’d both become a soppy mess. Steve sat back allowing Natasha to pull herself slowly up to standing, breathing slowly to try and combat the pain. 

Steve watched her for a second before standing himself and giving Natasha a very gentle hug, 

“Thank you, Natasha, for doing all of this. For carrying him, things changed fast and, as much as I can’t believe you went into combat while pregnant, I know that you didn’t have to keep it up. You could have aborted back then,” 

“But instead I decided to give my best friend a baby. It’s kind of nice, sometimes. I knew I’d never be pregnant so I never thought about it, but here we are.” 

Steve kissed her forehead. 

“Go, get some sleep, we’ll work this all out later. We just need to take it a day at a time.” 


	5. October, 2018

_ Natasha hadn’t been to many weddings, so she wasn’t able to give much evidence on how typical the layout before her was. She thought of some of those weddings on awful tv shows, a lot of them fit this layout with lines of chairs facing a white, willow - weaved arch. There were also a lot of things she presumed less typical, the grandeur of having a horse-drawn carriage to take guests around the grounds, the small fairground of rides and games for the children including a manned petting zoo. It was strangely tasteful, simple and almost had an innocent feel.  _

_ Natasha knew the bride was wearing white, she had seen pictures of the dress designs Pepper had Whatsapped to some of her friends - something that Natasha hadn’t expected to be included in - and had felt touched to be, but then that could have been the hormones. She didn’t know much about Tony’s outfit but she had every faith he would dress well, he always did. More than Tony’s clothes would make an impression on his appearance today. Tony was about to marry the woman that he had loved as long as she’d know him, and not only that but his month - old daughter would be there to see it happen. Natasha knew that he would be full of emotion, and not all of that emotion would be positive.  _

_ Steve gently brushed the sleeve of his suit jacket against her arm and Natasha realised she had been daydreaming while taking in the movie scene set in front of them. Steve was offering his arm, offering support that wasn’t just based on the bad combo of swollen ankles and heels. It was a weird day, an attempt to shove the middle finger into the face of Thanos and prove that life would go on. People were missing, people who should have been here but who they had seen die five months earlier, she knew the Spider kid would be heavy on Tony’s mind. She supposed the teenager hadn’t left his thoughts, through all the change, through the good and bad. Today wouldn’t change that.  _

_ Others were missing, Clint, Bruce, Thor. They hadn’t heard anything from Clint, Natasha had tried several times, phone calls, emails, even turned up at the door of the little farmhouse half expecting and half hoping Clint would open the door and have a list of confused expressions spill from his mouth when he saw she was pregnant. There had been no sign of life at the farm, nor at several other frequented safe houses. He hadn’t been reported among the vanished, he should be alive but his aloofness was a sign he needed a step back from the world. She believed he had gone into deep cover, hidden from humanity to organise his thoughts.  _

_ Thor, on the other hand, he and some of his people had settled in Norway, they presumed he was ruling there, helping Asgardian people to fit in on a new planet. He had RSVP’d but sent apologies that he wouldn’t be there. Bruce had sent similar apologies, to begin with, he had stayed close to the scattered remains of the team with nowhere else to belong. Bruce had slowly spent less time with them, found volunteer roles in pioneering science that adapted to the new society then he was gone, living in a different part of the country and occasionally replying to their emails. Natasha didn’t blame him for going out on his own, there was nothing to be done, and she didn’t need to move from rubbing salt in the wound to rubbing acid as her pregnancy progressed. It was cruel, even if he knew the platonic nature of it all she knew Bruce wasn’t able to separate the relationship from the baby as well as she could. He was moving on, Thor was moving on, Tony - well he had moved on the most.  _

_ As she took his arm Natasha met Steve’s blue eyes. She saw it in his face too, the pain, the loss and the confusion that today brought them all. They were the ones that couldn’t move on, whose lives were so fused with the Avengers team that the world could have stopped turning and they wouldn’t have noticed. They were changing, they were the reason she had gained nearly thirty pounds in the last six months. They had made a new human being, a special human who was likely to be one in a million, and even though the world should have been getting better there was no way to make it right.  _

* * *

  
  


**Early October 2018**

“Ready?” 

She wasn’t, she never would be. There was something about courtrooms, something about legal settings which always made Natasha nervous, she wasn’t sure whether it was a result of having fluidly lied many times in the witness box, knowing her life was on the line if she failed in her facade. Perhaps it was the opposite situation which made her nervous, the small number of times Natasha had found herself in a courtroom under her own name and telling her own story. More likely than either of these was the power of a court, the power that those involved in anything legal had to switch a situation on the words of a good lawyer, she hoped this was the best choice in the circumstances. 

When she had asked Matt Murdock to the Avengers compound Natasha had given very little information, all he knew was that his law skills were needed by her and Steve. Despite being legally blind - although Matt’s ability to sense things without sight had always been exceptional and totally incomprehensible - within second of coming into the main thoroughfare and meeting the ex he hadn’t seen in many years Matt had seemed taken aback, before smiling and stating, ‘Nat, you’re pregnant.’ 

She had understood the confusion, Matt and she hadn’t been more than a recurrent hook up when she had mentioned condoms were overkill and ended up cooling the moment to a conversation about her fertility, or lack thereof. He knew she couldn’t be pregnant, but yet she was and here they were. Natasha had debated getting him involved, Matt had moved on, she had too and he didn’t need to be drawn back into her hectic life. She could trust him, and that had been the deciding vote, she knew nothing would leave the compound, he was too good a person to sell the story. 

Matt had been standing just behind her when he spoke, now holding out his arm for her to take. He may not have truly needed her assistance or his white cane but he preferred to keep the life of Matthew Murdock far removed from the one associated with the masked Daredevil, the world didn’t know how his accident as a child had really affected him and that was something he hoped to hold on to. 

‘No, I’m not, but I don’t have a choice. Let’s go.’ 

  
  


Natasha had to take the stand, place her hand on the Bible and swear she would tell the truth, all the while eyeing up the legal team brought by the government. They shuffled through files, handing specific documents to the young man in his mid-twenties, blonde hair and freckles on his cheeks. He wore a well-tailored grey fleck three-piece and grey framed glasses. Her read on his behaviour showed the young lawyer to be quietly confident - she couldn’t say what markers gave her that read, but her instincts were rarely wrong.

Her hands felt clammy, the whole room felt warm despite being large and filled with floor to ceiling glass windows.  _ Keep it together, Romanoff.  _

‘Ms. Romanoff,’ The blonde guy looked her straight in the eye, thumbing the edge of the brown file in his hand, the file wore a SHIELD stamp in black and the recognisable red stamp saying Classified, a stamp that was branded on most of her information. 

‘I have here an assessment which was completed in 2007 by Dr Janiaczyk. At the time of this assessment, Dr Janiaczyk was working as a high ranking psychologist for the former government agency, SHIELD.’ 

The guy shifted himself, turning to face the jury, 

‘This psychological assessment was the final in several in-depth assessments and reports on psychological therapy sessions which were conducted with Ms Romanoff following her defection to the United States of America.’ 

Again he turned, 

‘Ms. Romanoff, I believe you are well aware of the results of these assessments as well as their purpose.’ 

It was a question, an attempt to get an emotional response from her. They wanted to see shame, or perhaps they wanted defiance, either to prove the shame Natasha had of her past or to use the information as a way to prove her unstable.

‘ Yes, the assessments were to determine whether I was working as a double agent, whether they could rely on me.’ 

‘And what, Ms Romanoff, did these official psychological assessments suggest, what diagnosis were you given?’’ 

‘Objection, Relevancy,’ 

‘Overruled,’ 

The words passed quickly, Matt’s objection coming in only seconds after the Government blonde guy had finished his question, and again only a second before the Judge with his large jutting chin and deep voice responded. There was no way they would have got away with that objection because Natasha knew the point blonde guy was working for. 

Natasha swallowed, her mouth dry and tongue flailing like a grounded fish trying to propel itself back into the water. 

‘Dr. Janiaczyk commented that my assessments may indicate borderline Antisocial Personality Disorder, although this was not formally diagnose-,’ 

‘Objection.’ The words flew out of Blonde guy quick enough that Natasha’s hand instinctively drew back to her side, looking for the weapon she had of course already had removed.

‘Overruled.’ 

Blonde guy cleared his throat, he reached for another white page of paper, silent like a kicked puppy while he gathered himself to come back on the information. 

‘I have here, as has been supplied to the court, a copy of the official definition from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders from the time of the assessment received by Ms Romanoff, for the aforementioned Antisocial Personality Disorder. It reads, Antisocial Personality Disorder is a diagnosis assigned to individuals who habitually and pervasively disregard or violate the rights and considerations of others without remorse. People with Antisocial Personality Disorder may be habitual criminals or engage in behaviour which would be grounds for criminal arrest and prosecution, or they may engage in behaviours which skirt the edges of the law, or manipulate and hurt others in non - criminal ways which are widely regarded as unethical, immoral, irresponsible, or in violation of social norms and expectations.’ 

Again the blonde guy returned the sheet of paper to his collection of documents and turned to speak directly to Natasha. 

‘Ms. Romanoff, during the time you have lived within the United States of America, have you engaged in behaviour which would be grounds for criminal arrest or prosecution?’ 

‘Yes,’ 

‘And in this frame of time have you engaged in behaviours to manipulate or hurt others, either at a criminal level or at a level regarded as morally and ethically wrong?’

‘Yes.’ 

He gave a curt nod, once again turning to address the jury as though he was the lead in a great Shakespearean performance, working the crowd in his favour. 

‘Regardless of the lack of any official diagnosis of Antisocial Personality Disorder, it is clear that associated behaviours have been a part of Ms Romanoff’s life, including her life within the United States. The defence for Ms Romanoff and Captain Rogers may have proven that this child, a child who has already begun to show superhuman strength -.’

‘Objection, incorrect information - Earlier evidence which was given by Dr Rosenberg as an expert in obstetric medicine, explained the breaking of ribs as a relatively common effect of pregnancy.’ 

Matt was on the ball, she was glad of that, but Natasha knew he would be and that was why he fought for them. 

‘Sustained,’ The booming voice of the Judge agreed. Blonde guy had to pause once more to reclaim his train of thoughts. 

‘The child is not to have parental contact with Ms Romanoff, as legal documentation attests, however, there is not sufficient evidence to show that Antisocial Personality traits can or cannot be passed through genetics. If this child is to be born with superhuman abilities and is to inherit traits such as a lack of morality and empathy, then it may provide higher risks than simply those associated with a high powered individual. Thank you,’ 

Blonde guy returned to his seat, slapping his file of paperwork down in front of him. Though the move was small, and his frustration not blatant to the untrained eye, Natasha could see the man knew he was clutching at strings - a bunch of balloons floating into the air and their strings too dispersed to catch any let alone them all. 


	6. Fall, 2023

** Fall, 2023  **

  
  


Steve held the small body of the little boy close to him, feeling his weight fluctuate as he drifted from sleeping and waking. His small body was still warm where it met Steve’s chest, warm from the bed he had been tucked up in only moments earlier. A jacket had been wrapped over the boy’s shoulders and a fleece blanket bundled around his lower body. It was early morning, the sun was beginning to lighten the sky around them into a purple haze, the world was mostly silent, only birds twirping and flipping around in the branches of naked trees. He wondered how strange it would all be to James, a world which was so much quieter than the one he was born into. The lack of technology would be one thing but the slower, simpler pace, fewer cars and fewer worries, they would be so strange to the little guy. 

It was the best choice, he knew that. Feeling the soft strawberry blonde hair nudge closer into his neck Steve placed a hand on the back of the little boy’s head, remembering with a sting in his eye the day he had first placed his hand on the head of his son, the first time he had lifted the tiny baby, so helpless and unbelievably mad at the world. He remembered thinking how the little boy was already so full of his mother’s fight. 

She had held him only once, only on the day he was born, deciding only moments after he came into the world that she wanted to feed him. She had mumbled to Steve how it was important, he would get antibodies and such through the first milk, antibodies that were far stronger than those of the average population. She had joked about preventing him from missing out with the girls later on from ugly measles scars. Steve remembered those, he had chuckled at her outdated reference but he would never forget her eyes. The love in her eyes as she held the naked infant against her own skin, and the pain that was also there, a pain that he wished she wouldn’t feel but he knew there was no persuading her. This whole venture, all of it was at the agreement she didn’t want to be a part of his life. 

He hadn’t known where to look, but there was less embarrassment than he had expected to feel around a topless Natasha, instead, he hadn’t wanted to interrupt their moment together, knowing it was incredibly special. 

James stirred again in Steve’s arms and he realised that tears had dripped from his cheeks into the boy’s hair. He never knew his mother, and now he never would. She gave everything she could, knowingly, actively. She gave everything so that others would be safe and loved. To Steve she had more than wiped out every single event of her past life, every bad deed balanced and more. 

He looked towards the house across the road, he knew it was the house he wanted but he had stood here for a while, unable to bring his thoughts together, to find a balance of emotions between the desperation to ring the doorbell and be met with Peggy, the real Peggy, the one he had known and dreamed of being with for the rest of his life, and the grief he felt for his son, even if the little boy knew nothing of what had happened. 

How would he explain this, how would any of this make sense? He was back, only a few years after he had died, but he was from the future and he brought with him the love child he had with a girl who was currently not much more than a teenager and lived hundreds of miles to the West. How would he explain knowing more than he should about events yet to come, how would they explain the red-headed child, how would James feel if he and Peggy were to have children one day knowing he wasn’t the same as them? 

Two birds flew over them, moving from a tree behind to land on the lawn at the front of their target house. The home of Margaret Carter, the place they would call home. Steve thought back to that image of James on his birthday, to Natasha with her hair dishevelled, some still sticking to her forehead, her cheeks red and her eyes full of exhaustion after the birth. He thought of that first meal she had given him, the way mother and son had looked into each other's eyes for that brief time. She had pushed past her own desires to do what was best for James, and now Steve would do the same. 


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

моя мыиш 

James, 

Hello, I guess. This might be the weirdest thing I have ever written down but, I’m your Mom. I never intended on knowing you by this point in your life, and that’s not because I don’t love you or because you were something bad. I was bad for you, I didn’t want that influence on you. I did a load of bad stuff, I was trained way back to work against the USA, to work against any enemies of what was then the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics - Russia. I was born there, in 1927 if you’ll believe it, many don’t but then you’ve seen your Dad so I guess you will. I won’t go through all the boring details, I did a lot of bad stuff, I’ve tortured, I’ve killed, there has been innocent blood on my hands. They reckon, the American’s do, that I have been warped in my mental capacities by the way I was brought up, that I’m not as empathetic as I probably would be but the others (I guess you might know them - the other avengers, or at least you can ask Steve) they didn’t see that. 

You were named after the first person that saw beyond the psycho, he’s your Dad’s best friend, and in between (it’s a long and pretty complicated story) he helped train me. He trained in combat, hand to hand sniping tactics, he helped with my English, taught me different Americanisms. He also had a large part on teaching fondue technique, I’d say ask Steve but I have a feeling you probably don’t have the best birds and bees conversations with your Dad, I can just imagine, poor kid. 

When I’m writing this down you’re still a baby, a tiny little thing that likes to curl up like a little frog, still adjusting to the world, you’ve got a foster Mom I believe, she’s nice Steve says, and I know he would have picked her well. You’ve got a little bit of hair, and still have the creepy leftover umbilical stump attached to your belly. Your sense of humour must be developing though since I’m told you peed in your Dad’s face the other day. I can’t go back to work yet, got some stitches (thanks) which still need to heal properly and my ab muscles are gonna take some work, but I’ll be back out there soon.

It’s hard to think what you’ll be like when you read this, will you grow up a bit long and stringy like your dad was? Whose hair will you end up with and will your eyes stay blue? Will you be into sports, or more of a tech kid? 

There are things I don’t need to be answered though, stuff I know about you because it’s the reason you were made. You will be a good person, you’ll do the right thing even if that means being punched in the face, you’ll be kind and courteous and hell you’ll be stubborn as anything. You’ll be the best you can be, whether there is some of that chemically enhanced crap in you from both of us or whether the best thing you got was antibodies and great sarcasm. 

You probably don’t know what the squiggles at the top of this are, you might not even know they are letters let alone say something, but that’s my first language there, Moya Meesh, that's what it says more or less. It means my mouse, that’s what I used to call you when you were in my belly when you were causing havoc making me want to fall asleep on my feet or breaking a rib or two. My little mouse, though you’re more of a bear, a tiger, a lion - any of those brave animals. For a while, you were so tiny, so insignificant, and I was scared to love you due to a baby no one knows about, not your father, not even your namesake, but even a mouse managed to steal my heart. 

I don’t know where I am now, I might be in prison, I might be dead, maybe you’ll see glances of me on the tv or the internet somewhere, maybe you’ll be able to look at photographs and see our similarities. Perhaps one day we’ll meet again, but not until you are far from the mouse I knew, not until you are a man, the hero you were born to be. 

Alas this is yours, it might not be much but it was something that, regardless of taste, is an important part of your heritage and something you are old enough to drink (even if the American laws say 21, I, and most of the world says 18). Stolichnaya is one of the best, better than a lot of the attempts at Vodka you get in the US. You should drink it first (if not always) as a shot, and as I am not there to say this for you, 

я желаю тебе кучу денег, море любвн и уйму времени, чтобы насладиться этим

поздравляю с днем рождения! 

за твоё здоровье, моя моленькя мышка 

Love your Mother, Natasha xx 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, the end to the story I have worked on for over two years. As much as it doesn't appear to have a huge appeal to readers it will always be special to me, I'm glad I got to tell it in full. I hope some of you might consider commenting on this as the final chapter but even if not I am glad it has been written, and I thank those of you who have read and loved this story.


End file.
